


liebestraum no.3 in a flat

by Daecyan_Shikoba



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Established James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Minor Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Multi, Not Beta Read, Piano, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9790598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daecyan_Shikoba/pseuds/Daecyan_Shikoba
Summary: I humbly request to the pianist: Liebestraum No.3 in A flat





	

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from my tumblr [here](http://daeshikoba.tumblr.com/post/157320034536/ok-but-can-you-imagine-tony-playing-his-piano-and) and [here](http://daeshikoba.tumblr.com/post/157320149016/part-1-heres-part-2-to-the-piano-fic-because-it), inspired in part by [this tumblr post](http://daeshikoba.tumblr.com/post/156001909339/lemonsharks-classicstarlite-actualmodel) and my favorite artist [(hello-shellhead)](http://hello-shellhead.tumblr.com). [fanart](http://hello-shellhead.tumblr.com/post/151671936106/sad-little-tony-playing-the-piano-thinking-about).  
> special thanks to [this lovely person](http://nikistillbelieveinheroes.tumblr.com) for sending the ask that, intentionally or not, encouraged me to write this :D  
> oh! almost forgot to mention (definitely forgot to mention in the tumblr post whoops, was just so excited to have this finished and post it!) these lyrics were on my mind a lot as i wrote this, too:  
>  _So brown eyes I'll hold you near/'Cause you're the only song I want to hear/A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere_ by Death Cab for Cutie
> 
> 6/30/17: okay so i realized a while back that when i cross-posted this from tumblr i forgot the very first paragraph of the fic...somehow...and i'd been meaning to edit this to add it in but kept FORGETTING LIKE A DOOF. so this is me officially doing that now...yeah....

  _liebestraum no.3 in a flat_

* * *

Today’s been one of _those_  days, long and stressful and exhausting. Tony just wants to unwind and forget deadlines and for once, maybe, _relax_. And maybe he shouldn’t, because it’s nearly ten at night, but playing _is_  relaxing. So he sits at the piano his mother passed down to him, flips the lid up, and starts playing.

He starts with _Clair de Lune_ , because that was one of his mother’s favorites, the first song she’d taught him when he was three and his feet couldn’t reach the pedals. This song is so ingrained in his memory he hasn’t had to reference sheet music in, well, a decade and change. His eyes slip shut a minute into the song, and he loses himself.

From there he plays through _Fur Elise_  and into another Beethoven piece, then from Beethoven to Mozart by rote, subconsciously going through the pieces he used to practice on the regular, before his parents died and he moved back to New York.

It’s half past eleven when he comes out of his haze, jolted out by a sour note that makes him scowl. Tony can’t believe he missed that note, leaves him feeling restless and frustrated. He heaves a sigh, and gently closes the lid on the keys once more.

The neighbors’ll probably appreciate it if he stopped playing, anyway.

It’s another week before Tony touches the piano again, busy with the designs on a new line of cell phones for SI. He’s hit a wall, trying to figure out how best to maximize battery life, and he remembers how playing would sometimes help whenever he was stuck on a complex math problem in college. So he gets into the bench and digs out the sheets of music.

_Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2_  is at the top of the pile, so he spreads the pages out along the music rack. He replaces the top of the bench and sits down, flexes his fingers, and opens the lid up with quite a bit of excitement. He runs through some quick exercises, just to warm up, and then he’s off. He’d almost forgotten how much _fun_  this song is.

Tony plays through several more songs, and by the time he’s come up with a new idea how to work the battery life problem out, he’s decided he’s going to take up playing daily again.

* * *

A month into daily playing - picking up newer songs to learn as he goes, like the theme from  _Interstellar_  and a piano arrangement of _Thunderstruck_  - Tony’s feeling good. Feeling _great_ , actually. A quick glance at the clock reassures him it’s not outrageously late for piano practice, and he settles at his piano.

He starts with warm-ups, then moves onto some Beethoven for shits and giggles. He’s half-way through Chopin’s _March Funèbre_  when he hears a weird sound from by the front door. His fingers still on the keys, and Tony twists around to narrow his eyes at the door. He freezes when he sees a piece of paper on the wood floor a few inches inside his apartment, and with a weary sigh Tony stands up to see what it is.

It’s probably a noise complaint.

The paper’s got the unmistakable feel and quality of recycled paper, which, props to his neighbors for being environmentally friendly. It’s folded in half, and the handwriting is _elegant_  in a way Tony hasn’t seen in quite some time. It’s almost enough to distract him from what’s actually been written.

It is not a noise complaint.

_I humbly request to the pianist: Liebestraum No. 3 in A flat_

Well. Wow. _Wow._

Tony’s genuinely speechless. He stares at the piece of paper like it will tell him which of his neighbors slipped this under his door for a moment, then looks to his piano.

“Huh,” Tony murmurs, a small smile forming. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

He digs his book of Liszt songs out of the bench and opens to the requested song, tucking the note between two pages because there’s no way he’s throwing that out. Tony flexes his fingers, suddenly _nervous_ , because he hasn’t truly played for someone in so goddamn _long_. He doesn’t want to fuck up, oh God, he wants to be worth the effort his mystery neighbor put into slipping this note under his door.

“Fucking relax, Stark,” he grumbles to himself, takes a deep breath, and starts playing.

_Liebestraum No. 3_  isn’t as familiar to Tony as _Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2_ , but the further in he gets the more he smiles, and before he knows it he’s reached the end of the song.

The sound of clapping echoes off the back alley walls Tony’s apartment faces, and with a start and a hot, pleased blush working its way across his cheeks, Tony realizes that he’s still got his windows open. He wonders where the clapping is coming from, if it’s above or below or on his floor. 

“Wow,” Tony sighs, then laughs softly. “Wow, okay, that was cool. _Wow_.”

Tony plucks the note out and then tucks it away between the first two pages for _Liebstraum_ , then shuts the book. He considers what he should play next, but honestly he’s still too flustered by the whole experience to focus properly. With a small smile, he closes the lid and gets up to go scrounge up dinner.

The next evening Tony settles at his piano with the sheet music for a new song he’s been itching to learn, and after his typical warm-ups, he loses himself in it. He has no clue how long he’s been at it when a soft rustle at his door snaps him out of his intense staring match with the notes, and he twists around to see another piece of colorful paper just a few inches inside his apartment. A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth, and Tony gets up to investigate.

The paper is actually, he thinks, origami paper, which amuses Tony, and the handwriting on this note is a little choppy and sharp, but neat.

_If you’re taking requests, I’d be delighted to hear Fur Elise again, it’s been awhile since you played it last. Thank you_

No signature, much like the one from yesterday, which disappoints Tony, but that’s okay. This whole anonymous request thing is kinda neat, if he does say so himself. So he goes back over to the piano, tucks this note in with the first one, and starts playing. His anonymous listener _was_  polite in the request, after all.

There’s clapping, again, when he finishes, and Tony’s face burns with embarrassed delight at it. Especially when he listens closer and realizes it’s _two_  sets of hands clapping. Logically he knew it was a different person to make this request, but _still_.

Meetings with R&D keep him at SI until late into the next night. When he gets home he goes straight to bed, exhausted. The morning after that, though, Tony finds himself at his piano, back to working on learning that new song. He’s come along, much further than he’d thought he had, and is pleased with this.

Tony’s almost not surprised when the soft rustle of paper against hardwood catches his attention, and Tony idly wonders if his mystery patron waits until Tony’s paused in playing to slip the note under his door. He goes to grab the note, smiling, and unfolds it to see the same elegant handwriting from the first person.

_Dear pianist,_  
_The new song you’re learning sounds nice, you’re doing an excellent job with it! However, if you don’t mind, I would like to humbly request Clair de Lune._  
_Yours,_  
_Anonymous_

“Oh,” Tony breathes, smiles shyly at the note, pleasure rushing through him at the praise, and bites his lip. “Since you asked so nicely,” he mumbles, and goes back over to the piano.

The note gets tucked away with the other two, and like the previous times, there’s clapping after the last note fades away. The next day the note is from the second anonymous requester, and the day after that is the first, and then the second, and then the first. Like they’re taking turns, like they’re coordinating it.

It becomes routine. Tony’s new favorite part of practicing.

Song requests start veering away from the famous, well-known stuff, but so far hasn’t been anything too obscure that Tony doesn’t know it.

Tony’s pretty afraid of when that happens, truthfully. He doesn’t want to disappoint whoever these people are, he really doesn’t. On top of that, he has no way of responding to them if he _doesn’t_ recognize or know the song. What if they think he’s grown tired of playing their requests, and stop sending them?

That’s the _last_  thing Tony wants.

He knows, of course, that it’s inevitable, so he starts thinking about how best to convey that he’s _not_ ignoring his anonymous friends. It’d be weird to leave a note on his door, right? And it probably wouldn’t _stay_ , would probably be thrown out or lost. It’d be even weirder if he sent a letter to all of his neighbors. The problem has Tony running around in circles, so he does what he always does when he runs into situations driving him mad.

He calls Rhodey.

* * *

“That’s bizarrely cute, and a little bit creepy,” Rhodey says, relaxing into the back of the armchair, and Tony makes a face at him. “It is, it’s creepy. How do they know which place has the piano?”

“Probably because I was very loud about it when the movers were bringing it up when I moved in last year,” Tony shrugs, and Rhodey snorts. “It’s not like you can’t hear it through the door, or the walls. These walls are like paper, I can hear my neighbors when they fuck! Though the guys in 3a are quieter about it, I only hear them once a week compared to the couple in 3c. Or the ladies who live right above me.”

“Tony,” Rhodey sighs, sounding a little pained.

“What? It’s not like it wasn’t the same in the dorms! I can’t expect people to be quiet while they fuck. We all know we can hear each other, we just pretend like we don’t. It’s the neighborly thing to do, after all.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Rhodey laughs, grinning, and shakes his head.

Tony beams and sticks his tongue out. “Now seriously, Rhodey-bear, what do I _do_?”

Rhodey heaves a sigh and takes a drink of his coffee, quirking a brow at him. “Tones, you already know. Either you send a letter to all of your neighbors, or you tape a note to your front door.”

“But what happens if the note falls off or gets lost or someone steals it before my anonymous fans see it!?” Tony whines, and Rhodey grabs a coaster off the side table to flick at Tony.

“Use duct tape, sheesh,” Rhodey points out. A moment later his eyes light up and he snaps his fingers, sitting forward to point at Tony. “Doesn't your building have a bulletin board by the mailboxes?”

“Yes, but that’s no guarantee they’ll see it if I pin a note there,” Tony mumbles.

“So put a note up there, and on your door,” Rhodey suggests. “There’s really not much else you can do beyond figuring out who these people are and getting ahold of them directly.”

“That was my first idea, but your’s and Pepper’s voice shouted at me not to,” Tony huffs, pouting when Rhodey gave him a look of fond disbelief and amusement. “ _Fine_ , you’re right. Thanks, Rhodey.”

“Yeah, anytime Tones, anytime,” he grins, wide and bright. Rhodey’s eyes skim over to the piano, and his expression shifts a little. “Any way I can badger you into playing for me?”

“No. Nu-uh, _nope_.”

“Aw, c’mon Tony, you play for your mystery fans!”

“That’s _different_.”

“ _How_  is that different?”

“…I can’t _see_  them,” Tony mumbles, tucking his chin into his chest and avoiding Rhodey’s gaze.

Rhodey tilts his head, considering him. “You have performance anxiety?”

“Shut up,” he says without heat, the back of his neck going hot with embarrassment.

“I’m not teasing you, Tony,” Rhodey murmurs, sincere and gentle. “I just didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs, slumping further into the couch and looking at Rhodey sideways. “Pretty comical, isn’t it? The wunderkid who grew up in the spotlight having performance anxiety.”

“It’s okay,” Rhodey replies. “And playing the piano is a different kind of performance, anyway.”

Tony smiles and huffs a laugh. “I guess…I guess if, maybe, you went into the kitchen or my bedroom and were just, _really_  quiet, I could play. You’d just have to give me a couple minutes.”

“Aw Tony, you don’t have to do that for me,” Rhodey protests, and Tony knows he _means it_.

“I know,” he says, and smiles softly. “That’s why I want to.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Tony nods, and makes shooing motions. “Go on, then, out of my sight.”

Rhodey pushes himself to his feet and heads for the kitchen, and Tony stands up, taking a deep, steadying breath. He makes his way to the piano, studies the wood grain thoughtfully for a moment as he tries to decide which song to play. He hasn’t gotten that song he’s been learning down perfectly, yet, so that’s out. Maybe _Scarborough Fair_ , if he’s still got the sheet music for it.

He opens the bench up and starts digging through the folders, finding it and some Dvorak he’d completely forgotten about at the very bottom. He pulls them out with a triumphant noise, and closes the bench, spreading the music out on the music rack. He sits down, takes a deep breath, runs through a couple quick exercises, and then he’s off.

The adaption he has for the song is longer than a lot of others, mostly because his mother had done it. Tony probably - definitely - would have cried if he hadn’t found the sheet music, and he smiles sadly as he plays. She’d taught him how to take songs and adapt them for the piano by ear. It made them unique, she’d explained, made them different from any official, mass produced sheet music that might’ve come out. He hasn’t tried his hand at it in a long time.

“Simon and Garfunkel, Tony?” Rhodey asks, making Tony jump, when he finishes the song, and Tony twists around to glower at him. “You’re really good, Tones. I didn’t know you were that good.”

Tony flushes and he turns back to fiddle with the pages. “Well, my mom started teaching me when I was four.”

Rhodey whistles, looking appropriately impressed when Tony chances a glance back at him. “You gonna play some more?”

“…Yeah, sure,” Tony says, and opens up the Dvorak book he’d found.

* * *

His neighbors from 3a are at the mailboxes when Tony wanders down with his note, and they wave at him when they see him. Tony smiles, waves back, and goes over to the bulletin board. The three of them hadn’t really interacted beyond polite greetings and holding the elevator doors - whenever they’re lucky enough that the elevator’s actually _working_ , usually Tony is the one responsible for it’s functioning but there’s only so much you can do with ancient things - until a few months ago. It wasn’t for a lack of interest in talking to them, though.

Mostly they’re both incredibly gorgeous, and Tony would _love_  to get to know them better, except, well, they’re a _couple_  and while he thinks they’d make wonderful friends, Tony is still a little bit intimidated by them. For being known as the suave, smooth, seductive Tony Stark, he’s easily flustered by the people he has a genuine interest in. 

It’s embarrassing.

Now, Tony tries not to be gross, or _obvious_ , because they’re good people and he really does like them. Eventually he’ll get over this awkward little crush he’s harboring, and in a few years they’ll all laugh about it. Or they won’t, because if Tony has his way they’ll _never_  find out.

“What’re you putting up?” Steve asks politely, coming up behind Tony to peer over his shoulder, then huffing and stepping to the side because Tony’s in boots that put him _just_  high enough to block Steve’s sight.

Tony blushes and shrugs. “Ah, nothing, really, just, you know, just a note,” he stammers, waving his hand a little.

“A note?” Steve says, bemused. “Dear Anonymous… You got a secret admirer, Tony?”

“No, uh - I don’t think so?” Tony swallows, and shrugs again. “Just, um, a couple people have been slipping me song requests under my door when I’m practicing.”

“Oh,” Steve says, looking a little flustered for some reason. “That’s pretty neat. You’re very good, by the way.”

“Ah, um, thanks,” Tony laughs nervously. “I like to think so.”

“We know so,” James-call-me-Bucky says, stopping beside them with the mail clutched in his right hand. “Very, very good. It’s nice.”

Tony beams, caught off guard. “Well, I’m glad you think so.”

Bucky smiles, then shifts his gaze to the bulletin board. His eyes scan over the various flyers - hand-made and printed alike - and announcements for a moment. Something makes his smile a little softer, and then he’s looking at Tony again.

“You should come over sometime, I make a mean chicken alfredo, and Stevie’s perfected his beef stew.”

“Oh,” Tony blinks, startled. “Thanks, that sounds nice.”

“Friday night, maybe?” Steve says, smiling up at him, and Tony consults his phone calendar.

“Ah, sorry, I can’t. I’m sort of busy with SI for the next couple weeks,” Tony says, disappointed, frowning.

“That’s alright, Tony, whatever evening you’ve got free,” Bucky tells him, shifting so he can toss his arm  over Steve’s shoulders. “Our schedule’s pretty much always free.”

“Hmm, okay. That won’t be until the end of the month,” Tony frowns. “Well, I could move this meeting to the morning, and - ”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Steve reassures, reaching out to pat Tony’s arm gently. “You don’t have to rearrange your schedule for us.”

“Lemme see,” Bucky says, and hands Steve their mail before plucking Tony’s phone out of his hands. He pulls his arm back, and Steve rolls his eyes, elbowing Bucky in the side. Bucky ignores him, tapping at Tony’s phone for a couple minutes before handing it back.

Tony checks it and sees Bucky’s added to his calendar for the last Friday of the month:

_Dinner w/BS_

Tony chokes out a laugh, and Bucky grins. “You get a kick out of that, don’t you?”

“Damn it, Buck,” Steve sighs, like he already knows what exactly is so funny. Tony bets he does.

“What?” Bucky asks, trying for innocent and falling flat.

“I’m gonna be so confused,” Tony muses, and edits the reminder to include Steve’s and Bucky’s names in the notes section.

“We’ll see you around, Tony,” Bucky says with a wink and another grin, and then he’s tossing his arm around Steve’s shoulders again and steering him further into the building, probably in the direction of their friend’s - Sam - apartment.

* * *

Two weeks later Tony makes it through the entirety of the song he’s been learning, full-stop, with no missed notes. He’s very excited about it. So excited he plays it through a second time, and then a third just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. After, he tucks the music into his music folder, pleased to have added another new song to his repertoire, and stares at the empty music rack as he contemplates what to do next.

The soft rustle of paper on hardwood pulls him from his thoughts, and Tony smiles.

_Dear pianist,_  
_Your new song sounded lovely! If I may, I would humbly request Dvorak’s Humoreska Op. 101 No. 1_  
_Yours,_  
_Anonymous_

Tony’s smile widens, and he wishes, not for the first time since putting his notes up, he could ask them if they saw his note. He thinks they did, the both of them, but he can’t be sure. That eats at him, a little, and he hates not knowing. More and more Tony’s been tempted to try and figure out who they are.

Sighing, Tony goes back to the piano and digs the Dvorak book out of the bench. He sets the note with the others, in a little box he’d designated for them once it became apparent that this was going to be a recurring thing, before sitting at the piano and playing.

Like all the times before, there’s clapping, and Tony flushes with pleasure. He feels _good_ , floating high with the compliments and the clapping. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he jumps into an upbeat song. One that’s always reminded him of Rhodey and Pepper and Happy and all the good things they’ve brought into his life.

His phone pings, a few minutes later, with a reminder, and Tony gets up to check it. He hopes Pepper didn’t schedule a new meeting or something that he’s forgotten, and nearly drops his phone when he sees the reminder is for _dinner with Steve and Bucky_. How had he _forgotten_  that was this week?

He saw Steve at the mailboxes this morning! Steve even _reminded him about it_.

Tony sighs at himself and goes to tidy up around the piano, practice most definitely over now, before going into his bedroom to get dressed. He has to remind himself that wearing a suit is probably _overdoing it_ , so he settles for a pair of his favorite jeans and a shirt with the Starfleet logo plastered across it. It’s a friendly dinner between friends. He doesn’t have to impress them. He shouldn’t try. They’re already _together._ They’re quiet and so obviously in love, Tony highly fucking doubts they want a _threesome with him_.

“Get a fucking grip, Stark,” Tony mutters to himself, running his fingers through his hair anxiously, and makes sure to grab his keys before leaving his apartment.

Bucky answers the door, when Tony knocks at six on the dot, and all Tony’s reminders to not be a creepy dick fly _out the fucking window_. Bucky looks gorgeous, which isn’t anything new, but. He’s got his hair pulled back, a few strands falling into his face, and he’s wearing the _tightest_ pair of jeans Tony’s ever fucking seen. Tony hopes he’s not being too obvious.

“Hey, Tony,” Bucky beams at him, and steps out of the way so Tony can come in. “Steve’ll be back, he made a quick run to the store because I forgot the garlic bread.”

“Ah,” Tony says as he walks into the apartment, then stops to take a deep breath. “It smells good, wow.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, smile turning pleased and a little shy. “Cooking’s been very therapeutic for me, helps me stay in my own head when I’m havin’ a rough day.”

Tony nods, following Bucky to the small table and fighting to keep his eyes off of Bucky’s ass in those jeans. It’s _so_  unfair. Unbelievable. Tony might die before Steve gets here.

Except thinking about Steve reminds him _why_  he’s not supposed to be starting at Bucky’s ass.

“I’m only really good with grilled sandwiches and breakfast foods,” Tony offers with a wry grin. “So long as I’m not distracted, that is.”

Bucky laughs. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water?”

“Sure thing,” Bucky says and grabs a glass from the cupboard. He hums to himself as he fills it at the tap, one of the songs Tony played earlier, and Tony feels his face go hot when he realizes that. Bucky comes back and sets the glass on the table, motioning for Tony to sit. “Those last few songs seemed extra happy.”

Tony chokes on the sip of water he’d taken. “W-what?” He sputters, face going hotter, and clears his throat. “Oh, yeah, I, uh. Yeah, I guess.”

Bucky’s smile softens and he sits across from Tony. “I’m always impressed with you, when you practice, honestly.”

“Ah, thanks,” Tony mumbles, ducks his head. “My mom taught me when I was four.”

“It shows.”

Steve walks in just then, a plastic bag clutched in his hand and an outraged look on his face. Tony nearly swallows his tongue when he sees Steve, grateful he’s already sitting. It’s so _unfair_. Steve’s face is flushed, probably with anger, and he drops the bag onto the kitchen counter. Bucky looks a cross between amused and concerned.

“What’s up, Stevie?” Bucky asks, getting up and going over to him.

They’re both unfair. Bucky in those jeans and Steve in that _tank top oh fuck_. Tony watches them for a moment before forcing his eyes down to the table and his glass of water. It’s hot outside, sticky and unpleasant, and Steve is covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Tony wants to lick him.

“Nothin’,” Steve grumbles, though the way the Brookyln accent thickens betrays him. “Just some asshole hasslin’ Wade’n’Peter at the store. Mostly Wade.”

Bucky’s expression darkens before smoothing out, and he leans down to kiss Steve’s temple affectionately before reaching around him to grab the bread out of the bag. “You missed Tony playing a couple Disney songs,” he says instead, and Steve _pouts_.

“You know Disney songs?” Steve asks, turning to look at Tony. “Oh, right, sorry, hey Tony, sorry for, ah, ignoring you when I stormed in. Um.” His blush travels down his throat, and Tony tries not to squirm.

“It’s okay,” he says and waves a hand. “I understand. I’m surprised Bucky didn’t get a call from the police station to come bail you out, really. But to answer your question, yeah, I know some Disney songs. Mostly just the older movies, like _Beauty and the Beast_ and _Lion King_.”

“Pretty sure the one song was from _Tarzan_ ,” Bucky adds helpfully, busy slicing the bread up before setting them on a cookie sheet.

Tony blushes again. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That song makes me think of the bot I built in college. He’s in my workshop at SI right now.”

“Buck almost _did_ ,” Steve says fiercely, and his blush darkens. “Luckily the ass left after Peter told him to get out.”

“Wade okay?” Bucky asks, reaching up to rub at his left shoulder subconsciously, and Tony averts his gaze again.

Steve nods and sags back against the counter. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good,” Bucky nods, and grabs the cookie sheet up to slide into the oven. “These’ll be done in about ten minutes, then we’ll eat.”

“Sounds good,” Tony says, and glances up to smile at them both.

Steve grins and pushes his fingers through his hair absently, then grimaces. “Uh, gimme a second,” he mutters before pushing away from the counter and going into the bathroom.

He comes back out a minute later, face no longer flushed, and skin looking like he took a wash cloth to it real quick. Tony distracts himself with his water, taking a sip while Bucky and Steve move around each other in the kitchen. They’re beautiful to watch, and Tony allows himself a moment, _just one moment_ , to imagine how he’d fit.

“So what other songs can you play?” Steve asks as he sets down a stack of plates before sitting in the chair beside Tony. “I’m not as versed in classical like Bucky, but you seem to know a lotta songs.”

Tony glances at Bucky, appraising, before shrugging a shoulder. “Just, you know, a lot of the more popular pieces. Whatever my mom taught me, and later the stuff I decided I wanted to learn. I like learning how to play songs that were never intended for piano.”

“Like ACDC?” Bucky teases as he comes over to the table, holding forks and knives in his right fist.

“Exactly,” Tony grins.

Dinner is good, _so good._ Bucky sends him home with a bowl full of the alfredo, and Steve grins when he shoves a wrapped plate with a couple slices of cheese cake on it. Tony feels like he’s floating when he gets back to his apartment, and he stashes the food in the fridge before wandering over to the piano.

There’s this _thing_ , niggling at the back of his head. Notes and notes and rhythm pulsing around in his skull. Tony sits on the bench, flips the lid up, closes his eyes, and lets his fingers dance over the keys.

* * *

A week and a half later finds Tony at his piano, lost in notes and rhythms, a pen tucked behind one ear. Tony surfaces, glances at the blank music sheets, then back to the keys with a slight frown, trying to decide which variation he liked best. Paper rustles against hardwood, after a bit, and he can’t stop the little grin from stealing across his face. Tony gets up to go get it excitedly, needing the break from what he’d been doing.

The handwriting is shakier than Tony’s used to from his buddy with the preference for origami paper, but it’s still legible so he doesn’t think much of it. Then he actually _reads_  the note, and worry floods him.

_Could you play something soothing? I think I could really use something soothing right now. Thank you_

Tony wants to go to this person right now, wants to find out what’s wrong and fix it if he can. He can’t. He doesn’t even know who this person is. He can’t do anything for them, except for what they’ve asked of him. So he sets the note in the keepsake box and settles back at the piano, considering his options.

Ultimately, he decides on a modern composer, a song he’s been learning in starts and stops the last couple months. He prays he doesn’t fuck it up, considering this is the first time he’s played it through, and breathes a sigh of relief when he reaches the end of the song with no noticeable fuck ups. It still needs polishing, but that’s fine, it was fine.

He doesn’t wait for clapping this time, though, his mind still on the shakiness of the handwriting, and the desperation Tony could feel through the words. Tony just jumps right into another song, and then another, and then another, and so on, until he’s been playing soft, soothing, calm pieces for almost an hour. He hopes it helped, that it did what his mystery friend needed.

He hopes the music felt like the hug Tony wants to give but can’t.

When Tony gets up the next morning, dressed in a suit for the SI meetings he can’t wriggle his way out of, there’s another piece of origami paper sitting on the floor just inside the apartment. Tony frowns, crouches down to pluck it up, and flips it over to see what’s been written, not sure what it is he’s expecting but. It was never this. Just two words, handwriting back to the surer strokes Tony’s used to.

_Thank you._

Tony strokes his thumb along the bottom of the page, considering. He’d just wanted to make this person feel better however he could, and their gratitude makes something funny and peculiar twist in his belly. He wants to tell them they don’t have to thank him, that he’s glad he could help in whatever way he could.

More and more, Tony’s wishing he knew who this was, who the both of his anonymous listeners were.

* * *

“Tony!” Steve calls just as Tony’s getting into the elevator, a couple weeks after the dinner Tony’s been trying desperately not to think of as a date. Because it _wasn’t a date_. Steve’s running, arms full with his portfolio and what look like groceries, face flushed and breathing noticeably ragged even from across the front lobby.

Tony shoves his leg in front of the elevator doors to hold it, and Steve smiles gratefully at him as he lurches into it. Tony smiles back, considers offering to help carry Steve’s things, and steps back so the doors slide shut.

“Thanks,” Steve pants, sagging back against the wall. “You’re a life saver.”

“I just held the elevator for you,” Tony dismisses, willing away the blush he can feel prickling along his cheeks and the back of his neck. “I’m not that much of a prick that I wouldn’t hold it for you.”

Steve just shakes his head and smiles. “You’re the farthest thing from a prick, Tony.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony mumbles, and glances once more at what’s in Steve’s arms. “Do you need any help with that?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” he assures, and his smile widens. “See, proving my point.”

“Hmph,” Tony sighs through his nose, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “How’s Bucky? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Steve’s eyes go sad, and his lips turn down ever so slightly. “He’s had a rough time these last several days. A car backfired outside the diner we were at the other week and he had a flashback.”

“Oh, shit, I’m - uh. That, that sucks,” Tony says, stomach lurching.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, rolling his shoulders a little. “You should stop by sometime, if you have the free time. I know he’d love to see you. He’s just not really up to leaving the apartment now.”

Tony blinks. “I can do that,” he says softly. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Good,” Steve grins, expression just the slightest bit brighter. Then, he turns to peer at Tony. “Actually, would you be up for coming over for lunch now?”

“Uh, y-yeah, yeah of course,” Tony stammers, face going hot once more. “I’d love to.”

Steve’s smile turns _shy_ , suddenly, and Tony bites down viciously on the inside of his cheek. The elevator stops on their floor before either of them can say anything more, and Tony is grateful for the distraction as he follows after Steve.

“Ah,” Steve pauses outside his door, keys in hand, and glances over his shoulder at Tony. “Please, uh, don’t say anything about Bucky’s state? He’s - ”

“Steve, _Steve_ ,” Tony interrupts, sharply, “I’m not going to say anything. I’m not going to _judge him_  for having a bad couple weeks, alright? I don’t know what exactly it is he’s going through, but I do have an idea. My best friend is in the air force, Steve, and you bet your ass I looked up _everything I could_  about _everything_  that might mean for him.”

“Sorry,” Steve sighs, letting his head thunk against the door, then wincing. “Sorry, I know you wouldn’t, I just…”

Tony puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezes it gently. “It’s okay, Steve, I know. You’re protective, I understand. I’d be the same.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, and straightens again. “Accusing you of being a prick kind of contradicts what I said in the elevator, and seems pretty counterproductive.”

“Counterproductive? What - ”

Steve unlocks the door, tossing a grin over his shoulder, and pushes into the apartment. Tony stares after him for a moment, confused, before following Steve in. He glances around briefly, noting the way the floors and walls are spotless and everything is orderly. It’s not a complete 180 from the way it was when Tony was over for dinner, because Bucky and Steve aren’t total slobs, but it’d been cluttered in a way that was homey.

“Buck, I’m home,” Steve calls out as he drops his portfolio and carries the bags into the kitchen. “Tony’s with me. I invited him over for lunch.”

It’s quiet for a couple minutes after that, and just when Tony thinks Bucky’s not going to make an appearance, he shuffles out of the bedroom wearing sweats and an oversized sweatshirt. He looks rough, unshaven and hair a mess, dark circles around his eyes like he hasn’t been sleeping, and all Tony wants to do is wrap him up in a hug.

“Hey,” Bucky grunts, glancing about the room quickly before zeroing in on Tony. “Did ya just get out of a business meeting?”

“What?” Tony startles, glancing down at himself to take in his suit. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

Bucky hums and shuffles the rest of the way into the living room. “Stevie blindsided you into coming over, didn’t he?”

“We were in the elevator,” Steve says lightly, putting groceries away. He turns around to look at Tony, and grins sheepishly. “Though I guess I coulda let you stop at your place to get changed first, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Tony dismisses.

“Just want you to be comfortable,” Bucky says gruffly, and sits on the couch, pulling his feet up so his knees are tucked into his chest. “Don’t imagine suits are all that comfortable.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugs, and walks over to the armchair, trying not to feel discouraged by the way Bucky stiffens. “I’m plenty comfortable.”

“If you say so,” Bucky mutters, relaxing again.

“I do,” Tony smiles, and brightens when Bucky returns it albeit tiredly.

“How’s grilled cheese sound to you, Tony?” Steve asks from the kitchen, clattering around as he pulls out a griddle. “Buck likes turkey on his.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Tony says. “Can’t say I’ve ever had it that way, though.”

“You should try it,” Bucky tells him.

Tony considers him for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

“Alright,” Steve chuckles, and goes to the fridge. “Oh, Wade and Peter said hi,” he says over his shoulder absently, pulling out the butter and cheese and turkey slices.

“Hm,” Bucky hums, wrapping his arms around his knees and looking at Tony. “Learning any new songs?”

“Sort of,” Tony replies, feeling hot beneath Bucky’s intense gaze. “I’m actually kind of, ah, composing a song?”

“Oh,” Bucky blinks, perking up a little. “That’s pretty neat, Tony.”

“Thanks,” Tony smiles, ducking his head. “I’ve been working on it a little at a time the last couple weeks.”

Bucky grins, relaxing further into the couch, and something warm unfurls in Tony’s chest at the sight.

“Either of you want a salad with your sandwich?” Steve asks over the sound of sizzling butter.

“No thanks,” Tony says, turning to watch Steve as he cooks. He can see the muscles of Steve’s back move through his tank top, sinewy and deceiving. Tony knows Steve’s much stronger than he looks.

“Nah,” Bucky replies after a moment. He’s staring right at Tony, when Tony glances back at him, and his expression is _pleased_ , for some reason. Tony can’t figure it out, can’t figure _him_  out, and flushes under the attention.

Steve snorts. “Suit yourselves,” he says, “your loss.”

Bucky finally, thankfully, looks away from Tony to grin fondly at Steve. “Once I figure out who it was who got you on this fuckin’ health kick, I’m gonna kick ‘em.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with eatin’ healthy, Buck,” Steve laughs, turning a bit to smile at them.

“I’m gonna _kick them_.”

Tony laughs softly, and Bucky narrows his eyes at him.

“Oh don’t give me that look,” Tony says, “I live mostly on a microwave and take-out diet.”

Bucky frowns. “Maybe you should have a salad with your sandwich,” he says thoughtfully.

“Hey,” Tony protests, “what exactly are you saying here, Buckaroo?”

“That you should take better care of yourself,” Bucky shrugs, matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, well, I’m a busy guy.”

“Hmm,” he hums, staring at Tony again. “Well, that’s understandable I suppose.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to ply you with some food,” Steve declares, and carries a tray with their lunches over to the coffee table. He sets the tray down and picks up a plate, shoving it into Tony’s hands before grabbing up the other one to hand to Bucky. He takes the last plate and settles at the other end of the couch.

Tony stares at them for a long moment, at the empty cushion between Bucky and Steve, then shakes himself and turns his attention to his sandwich. They eat in relative silence for a couple minutes. Tony’s pleasantly surprised with his food, not that he thought it wouldn’t taste good. It was just _different_.

“This is delicious, Steve,” Tony says sincerely, “thank you.”

“Told you,” Bucky mumbles, grinning. “Thanks, honey.”

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums, mouth full. “You’re welcome, I’m glad you like it, Tony.”

Tony smiles, and finishes the last bite of his sandwich while Steve starts talking about his new art exhibit at a small gallery. It’s possibly the most relaxed and enjoyable lunch Tony’s had in months, maybe even longer, and Tony allows himself to relax into the chair fully. He can feel the small little smile on his face as he listens to Steve, fond and probably way too revealing, but that’s okay. Neither of them seem to be paying him much mind.

When he finally goes home later that afternoon, arms laden with tupperware full of leftovers, he changes into a pair of sweats he stole from Rhodey when they were at MIT and sits at his piano with a pen and blank music sheets. He doesn’t resurface until well into the night, arguably the morning, ink on his fingers and arms and head full of music.

* * *

Tony runs into Bucky at the elevator a couple days after their lunch. He looks tired, but like he’s doing a little better than before. Tony smiles in greeting, and Bucky quirks a questioning brow. Possibly at Tony’s attire, which Tony’s trying to pretend isn’t as embarrassing as it is. If he’d know he was gonna run into one of the two people he likes, he would’ve given his outfit more thought than “yeah this is clean”.

“Where you off to?” Bucky asks as they get into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor before leaning against the wall.

“Gotta run to the store,” Tony says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, feeling suddenly nervous and shy. It’s ridiculous, and makes him feel frustrated with himself.

“Oh yeah? Me too. Gotta get more origami paper,” he says, a little sheepish grin tugging up the corner of his mouth, and holds up the reusable grocery bags Peter passes out. “And pick up some stuff to make bread.”

Tony feels his eyebrows shoot up, and he peers closer at Bucky, noting the anxious way he’s holding himself, the way he subtly eyes the enclosed space of the elevator. Tony wonders if it wouldn’t have been better for Bucky to take the stairs. Bucky smiles tightly, like he knows what Tony’s seeing, and shifts from foot to foot.

“I started doing origami during therapy, after,” Bucky elaborates, giving a small gesture with his left arm. “It’s frustrating, but it’s helping with dexterity, and it’s something to focus in on when my skin’s crawling from anxiety.”

The mention of origami paper has Tony’s mind scrambling, makes him peer at Bucky some more. It takes him a moment to place it, and when he does he has to bite down on the sudden need to babble nervously because it _can’t be_. It can’t. Can it?

“You okay, Tony?” Bucky asks, noticing his sudden silence, and Tony nods even as his face goes hot. “Alright, then.”

“Bread?” Tony blurts, cringing internally, hoping to distract Bucky.

“Yes?” Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Homemade bread. I like making it every once in awhile.”

The elevator finally reaches the ground floor, and Tony makes a mental note to fix the speed on that as he steps out. He makes it a total of four steps before noticing that Bucky’s not beside him, so he stops and turns to look. The sight of Bucky hovering just in the threshold of the elevator, expression twisted with anxiety, breaks Tony’s heart and he recalls Steve mentioning the other day that Bucky hadn’t been up to leaving their apartment yet.

“So where do you even _get_  origami paper?” Tony asks, and Bucky jerks a little, eyes locking onto Tony’s face.

“What?”

“You said you were going to get more origami paper,” he says, “where do you even get that from? Does Wade hide it somewhere?”

Bucky flexes his fist and steps into the lobby. “No, it, uh, I go to this little crafts store around the corner from the grocery store,” he replies. “It’s where Stevie gets all his art supplies from.”

“Oh yeah? I didn’t know there was a crafts store so close by,” Tony smiles. “D’you think you could show me where? Then we can stop off at the grocery store on the way back.”

“I, that, I guess I could,” Bucky blinks, shoulders loosening just the slightest. “I don’t wanna keep you or anything, though.”

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” Tony dismisses, waiting for Bucky to move closer before grinning up at him and hooking his arm around Bucky’s left arm. “I’m not actually busy. I just figured I should go to the store before I forgot to buy more trail mix. _Again_.”

Bucky snorts but doesn’t pull away from Tony. “If you say so,” he mutters, then takes a purposeful step towards the lobby doors, dragging Tony along.

Tony laughs and skips twice to catch up properly, and soon they’re stepping out into the sweltering summer heat. He keeps up a steady chatter, talking about R&D and the newest idea for maximizing battery life in his cellphone prototype, and by the time the storefront comes into view Bucky’s laughing at Tony’s complaints. It feels good, making Bucky laugh, distracting him from his anxiety even just the littlest bit.

“It’s not _funny_ ,” Tony pouts, turning his head to make sure Bucky _sees_  the pout. His foot catches in a crack in the sidewalk, and Tony gives a startled yelp as he lurches forward.

He scrunches his eyes shut and throws his hands up, fully expecting to be meeting the concrete any second, except then there’s something solid wrapping around his waist, catching him before he actually hits the ground. Tony peaks an eye open to glance down, and swallows when he realizes that _Bucky’s_  caught him. With his _left arm_. Normally he avoids touching anyone with it, and yet it’s wrapped tightly around Tony’s waist.

“You alright, there?” Bucky asks, holding Tony tight to his front like he thinks Tony’ll fall if he lets him go.

“Y-yeah,” Tony croaks, feeling flushed.

Bucky hums and lets him go slowly. If Tony didn’t _know better_ , he’d say that Bucky’s hand lingers on his waist. But he does know better. 

“So, uh, where do they keep the origami paper,” Tony stammers, pointing at the store, silently cursing himself. _Stop being fucking ridiculous, Stark!_

“In the back,” Bucky says, slowly, as his eyebrows slowly creep up to his hairline. He shakes his head and leads the way into the store, Tony a few steps behind him.

Tony wants to ask him, desperately, if he’s the one with the preference for origami paper. It would make _so much sense_. It _fits_. It does, and Tony doesn’t know how he feels about that. If Bucky _is_  one of the people slipping him song requests, why doesn’t he sign his name?

“You know,” Bucky says over his shoulder as they wind their way through the aisles of the store, startling Tony from his thoughts, “I honestly wasn’t expecting you to be so shy.”

“I - you - …What?”

Bucky stops and turns to meet Tony’s eyes. “You’re a lot shier than I was expecting,” he reiterates, head tilting to the side. “For the longest time I thought you, well, I don’t really know. You’d just _stare_ , at me, and Stevie, at us. I thought at first you were starin’ at my arm. Wouldn’t be the first, sure as hell won’t be the last, but then I started watchin’ you back, just to see.”

“Uh…”

“Steve’s the one who suggested maybe you were just _shy_ ,” he continues, smirking just a bit. “I couldn’t believe him, suggestin’ you of all people were _just shy_. Then he started strikin’ up conversations with you, and I couldn’t fuckin’ believe that he was actually right.”

“I - I don’t. I am not _shy_ ,” Tony manages to protest, but it’s weak. So weak. He knows it’s weak, Bucky sure as hell knows it’s weak. There’s really no point, but he’s gotta.

“You are,” Bucky says, smiling. “It’s _cute_.”

“What the hell,” Tony mumbles faintly, staring at him.

Bucky sighs and shakes his head again, turning on his heel to continue looking for the origami paper. Tony stares after him uncertainly, speechless, chewing on his cheek. A sales associate approaches him to ask if he needs help finding anything, and Tony shakes his head, sends them a polite if strained smile, and starts after Bucky.

“Were you _flirting_  with me?” Tony demands when he catches up to him.

“Yes,” Bucky says bluntly, stopping in front of a display full of books on origami and bundles of different-sized origami paper.

“ _What_ ,” Tony squeaks, clears his throat, “what about Steve? Your _boyfriend_!?”

“Well,” Bucky snorts, grabbing a couple packs of paper, and turns to face Tony fully again. “Steve’s been flirting with you, too.”

“He what…” Tony’s eyes go wide.

“We’ve both been flirting with you these last few weeks,” Bucky tells him.

“What - no, no you haven’t, no way,” Tony denies, shaking his head, and sucks in a startled breath when Bucky steps into his space. “You - ”

Bucky leans even closer, so close they could be kissing if Tony _just_  tilted his head the eensiest bit. “We have been, baby doll. Just waitin’ for you to catch on, ‘cept I’m sometimes pretty impatient.”

He smiles, shifts a little to brush his lips across Tony’s cheek, and backs off. Tony makes a strangled little noise, staring after him as he heads for the front of the store, heart pounding and mind racing. He pinches his side, just to make sure this is _real_.

It is.

* * *

They go to the grocery store, and Tony is quiet. Contemplative, mostly. He can tell that Bucky’s nervous, uncertain, but Tony doesn’t know how to reassure him. He’s still too busy _reeling_  from this revelation.

“Bucky, hey!” Wade calls when they walk through the front doors, and Bucky waves, starts off towards him. Tony heads for the aisle he knows has all the trail mixes and dried fruit, and nearly shrieks in surprise when he trips over Peter.

“Ow,” Peter complains as he stands up. “Hey Tony.”

“Hey, Pete,” Tony sighs and winces sympathetically. “Sorry.”

“Nah you’re fine,” Peter laughs, waving his hand. “But hey, we just got in some more of those granola bars you like.”

Tony grins. “Excellent, I’ll stock up on those too while I’m at it.”

Peter chuckles and follows him to his destination. “So what’s with the face?”

“What?”

“The face,” Peter repeats, waggling his fingers at Tony’s face. “I can’t tell if you’re sleep deprived, lost in an engineering haze, stoned, or a combination of any of those.”

Tony huffs and bats Peter’s hand away, frowning at him. “None of the above.”

“Well then what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” he sighs, and stops to grab the largest bag of his trail mix before continuing on for the granola bars. 

Peter follows him silently, and when Tony looks his expression is one of pure disbelief.

“It really is nothing,” Tony insists, and Peter sighs at him.

“Come on, Tony, seriously? You really think I’m gonna believe you?”

Tony turns back to the shelves, scowling. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters. From across the store Wade and Bucky laugh, and Tony’s eyes seek them out before he can think about it.

“Oh my God,” Peter huffs, faintly, and Tony twitches, face going hot again. "Oh my god _please_ tell me they finally made a move?’

“What!?” Tony squawks, nearly dropping his trail mix, “what are you - what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Peter snorts and stares at him. “Don’t even try that with me, Stark. You know exactly what I mean.”

“No,” he denies, spots the granola bars and goes to them, Peter trailing after him.

“C'mon man, I have had to listen to Steve and Bucky talk about you like the sun shines out your ass for the last several months,” Peter complains, “I have had to listen to Wade talk about how disgustingly adorable the three of you are and if you’re telling me they haven’t made a move yet I will cry. Real tears, Tony, I will shed them!”

“ _What,”_ Tony squeaks, voice gone high and strangled, a little startled.

Peter opens his mouth to reply just as Wade and Bucky round the corner into the aisle. They catch sight of Tony and Peter, and Tony feels his face flush _again_. He doesn’t think he’s blushed this frequently before in his life, yeesh.

“Whatcha two talking about?” Wade asks brightly, gaze flicking between his boyfriend and Tony. “Pete! Are you flirting with Tony? I’m _appalled_! How could you flirt with such a cutie _without me?!”_

_“_ Wade,” Bucky says, brow furrowing, a hint of warning in his eyes.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?” Wade whines, nudging Bucky in the side with his elbow. “You can’t blame me for wanting to flirt with Tony, he’s _cute_.”

Tony clutches his trail mix and box of granola bars tighter, avoiding Bucky’s eyes. “Sorry, Wade, you and Peter aren’t the guys for me.”

“Ohoho,” Wade laughs, jostling Bucky again. “You hear that Jimmy-Jam?”

“Wilson, I swear to god if you don’t stop calling me that,” Bucky sighs, batting away Wade’s arm.

“Ohhhh, last names! I’m definitely in trouble now,” Wade grins, then shoots Bucky a look of exaggerated fear. “Oh fuck, are you gonna tell Steve on me?”

Bucky snorts, catching Tony’s eye when he glances up. “I _should_ ,” he says thoughtfully. “But he might actually kill you.”

“He absolutely would kill me,” Wade declares solemnly, and Tony stares at the both of them in disbelief. “He would, Tony, he really would. I’ve never seen such a scary little dude.”

“I,” Tony sighs, “am too tired to make sense of this entire day.”

“So you are sleep deprived!” Peter crows, and Tony flips him off before stomping off towards the cash registers.

“Bucky?” Tony hesitates, stopping a few feet away suddenly unsure, glancing back to see Bucky frowning after him. “I, um.”

“Can I walk you home?” Bucky asks, eyes intense, determined, as he meets Tony’s gaze.

Tony nods, a small jerky motion, and starts towards the checkout once more. Bucky catches up to him quickly, his own hands full with what he’d come here for, and they walk shoulder to shoulder the rest of the way to the registers. Tony’s relieved, really. It didn’t feel right, leaving without Bucky, no matter what the hell’s going on. No matter that Tony’s _confused_  and a little bit lost.

They get through the check out quickly, both of them quiet as they do. Bucky subtly maneuvers himself so that Tony’s on his left as they leave the store, his right hand shoved into his jeans pocket. Tony steals quick glances out of the corner of his eye as they walk back to the apartment building.

“Tony,” Bucky says softly, when they’re back in the elevator, and turns to face him fully, his expression worried. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, earlier. I’ll talk to Stevie, and we’ll back off - ”

“Are you one of the people who slip song requests under my door?” Tony blurts, then snaps his mouth shut and looks down. “Um. Sorry, I, uh, ignore that.”

Bucky, when he glances back up, is grinning a little. “You didn’t know?”

“…No?”

“Huh,” Bucky huffs, thoughtful. “I really thought you knew.”

Tony sends him an unimpressed look. “How the hell would I know? You never signed your name.”

“Thought you recognized my handwritin’,” Bucky shrugs, unapologetic. “I left you that note about your mail being delivered to our box, remember? A few months before you started playing the piano.”

“…Oh,” Tony scrunches his nose up, trying to recall the incident. “Oh! Right, that note.”

The note that opened the door to a developing friendship between Bucky, Steve, and Tony.

Bucky smiles, eyes warm and soft as he looks at Tony. “Yeah, that note. You’re adorable.”

“Shut up,” Tony protests immediately, face going hot once more.

“It’s true, the way you scrunch your nose up to think is maybe one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen,” Bucky insists.

The elevator reaches their floor before Tony can respond, and Bucky waves Tony off first when the doors slide open. In the hallway, he turns back towards Bucky and exhales softly in surprise when Bucky’s eyes lift from where they’d most definitely been staring at Tony’s ass. He really hadn’t been joking, had he?

“Tony, listen,” Bucky says, expression shifting to determination. “I really wanna ask you out, alright, I do. So does Steve. We wanna try with you, if you’re interested.”

“I, uh, I - I,” Tony stammers, and Bucky smiles softly. He reaches out a hand to cup Tony’s cheek, effectively silencing Tony, and leans in to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth.

“You don’t havta answer right this second, baby doll,” he murmurs, fingers stroking along Tony’s jaw as he pulls his hand away. “In fact, I’d rather you gave it thought. Maybe even wait until after you and Steve talk next. Stevie an’ me, we’re serious about this.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony mumbles faintly, nodding, and Bucky beams at him. He presses another kiss to Tony’s cheek and heads off to his apartment, leaving Tony to stare after him.

* * *

Later that evening Steve knocks on his door. He looks determined, cheeks a little red and eyes bright, when Tony opens the front door and sees him standing there. Tony blinks, a little thrown but not completely surprised.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve greets, voice a soft counterpoint to the look on his face.

“Steve,” Tony replies, and steps back in unspoken invitation.

Steve gives a little smile and walks into the apartment, and Tony shuts the door behind him before leading the way to the living room. They don’t say anything for a couple minutes, the silence stretching between them until Tony’s fidgeting nervously. He doesn’t know what to say or how to start this conversation in the first place, if he’s honest, and he hates the jittery, awkward feeling that leaves him with.

“Bucky told me you helped him out today,” Steve finally says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Thank you.”

Tony shakes his head, frowning a little. “It wasn’t like all that,” he shrugs, running his hand through his hair. “I just walked with him.”

“But it was,” Steve insists, earnest. “Today was the first day Bucky’s left the apartment, let alone the building. He told me he wouldn’t have managed to get off the elevator if it wasn’t for you. You helped him even if you didn’t realize it, or at least, more than you thought.”

“I just wanted him to know he wasn’t alone,” Tony says quietly. “I didn’t - I could tell he was anxious. I know about anxiety, I know how _that_  feels, and having someone talk to me, someone’s voice anchoring me and distracting me. I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment, wide-eyed. “Tony,” he says softly, expression shifting from that stunned look he’d had to something warm and happy and determined. “Tony, would you be interested in going on a date with me? With me’n’Bucky?”

“I - I, ah, you - R-really?” Tony stutters, clears his throat and prays Steve can’t tell how nervous Tony is.

“Yeah, really,” he confirms, with a small smile and a nod, then says: “You don’t have to answer right now, of course! Bucky said he asked you earlier and I wanted to, too. Wanted to make it clear that it really is the both of us who’re interested in you.”

Tony ducks his head, smiling. “Wow,” he murmurs, beyond happy. “ _Wow_. I’m - Yeah, yes, _yes._ I’d love to go on a date with you and Bucky.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiles, suddenly bashful. “That’s. Yeah, that’s good, I’m glad.”

“Yeah,” Tony grins goofily, looking up at Steve. “What day?”

Steve considers him for a moment, then gives him a small grimace. “I fail at this,” he sighs. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Oops,” Tony chuckles.

“Well, I’d been planning on giving you time to think about it,” Steve says, smiling wryly, “I hadn’t considered you’d agree immediately.”

“Ah yes, that was definitely an oversight on your part,” Tony teases, a bright smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Got a pen and paper I can write on? I’ll leave you mine and Bucky’s cell numbers.”

“I’m a little shocked we haven’t already exchanged numbers,” Tony comments, turning to his piano to grab up the pen and blank piece of staff paper sitting on the music rack. He tears the page in half and writes out his own number on one piece before handing over the two halves and the pen to Steve.

Steve chuckles and takes them, folding up the paper with Tony’s number and tucking it in his pocket before writing down Bucky’s and his numbers on the other piece. He hands it back to Tony, and Tony glances at it absently as he goes to set it back on the music rack. The handwriting, though, catches his attention and Tony does a double-take.

The handwriting looks awfully familiar.

Tony glances back at Steve, eyes narrowed, and Steve raises his eyebrows in silent question. “You,” Tony says, waggling the paper at Steve, “it’s you, too, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“The other mystery person slipping song requests under my door!”

Steve’s face goes bright red and he fidgets. “Uh… Maybe?”

“You - Christ,” Tony snorts, shaking his head. “You and Bucky - Goddamn, you fucking _dorks_.”

“I’m not sure if this reaction is good or not,” Steve says, looking a little lost.

Tony grins, setting the paper down and going back over to Steve. “It’s not a negative reaction,” he informs him fondly, and leans down to brush a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

“Oh!” Steve squeaks, blinking, and clears his throat. “Oh, well, g-good. That’s. That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, beaming.

Steve heaves a breath and rubs the back of his neck, expression sheepish. “I woulda signed my name, but I was a little scared you’d - Well, I don’t know, exactly. Laugh at me, maybe. Feel obligated to, mostly.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Tony assures him, smiling. “I liked it, and the mystery was a lot of fun. Not that I don’t like knowing, because I do.”

“Good,” Steve says, and leans up to kiss Tony’s cheek, startling him. “I better go. I still have six pages left to ink tonight and if I don’t get started now I’ll be up ‘til three in the morning again finishing them. I’ll text you a time and day for our date later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony sighs, feeling a tad disappointed.

Steve smiles before heading for the front door. He pauses with his hand on the knob, glancing back over his shoulder at Tony. “Dear pianist, I would like to humbly request _Beauty and the Beast_. Sincerely, Steve Rogers.”

Tony bites his lip, heart flipping in his chest and face going hot, and he nods. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

~ _fin_ ~

**Author's Note:**

> songs mentioned:  
> [clair de lune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-LXl4y6D-QI)  
> [fur elise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zO_xjzHzHZ0)  
> [hungarian rhapsody no.2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byGI1mDi3no)  
> [interstellar theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4y33h81phKU)  
> [thunderstruck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ynOXPhl7VPw)  
> [march funebre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QiWg0sYc4t0)  
> [liebestraum no.3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4tfejFYHfM)  
> [scarborough fair](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5lV2wzOz7k)  
> [humoreska op. 101 no.1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NBgKXqFYv0)  
> [soothing song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7maJOI3QMu0)  
> [beauty and the beast](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rcs0LCbom7E)


End file.
